Magic happens when you cast a spell. The trick is to actually cast the spell. A lot of people consider the spells they would cast if they had the time. They are way to busy dealing with reality to try to work some magic.
You remember the book the Secret? I believe it was written by a magician. She cast a spell and manifested herself a nice payday. There is a big energy requirement to casting spells. In the case of the Secret, the spell was the book. The author put effort into writing a book. That energy paid off.
Sometimes spells need to be refined. Magic always happens when you cast a spell the form may not be readily identified. New spells may need practice to get the magical result that you intended. An example of this would be making a sales call with minimal preparation. If you are very lucky you will make a sale. You gain the magical result of experience. Reflecting back on the spell you cast, you realize you may need more information to create stronger magic.
You prepare more for the next sales call. The magical result from this was customer interest and more experience. As you cast this spell over and over again, the magical result yields sales. The sales will continue to grow as the magic grows stronger and more efficient. There are many ways to work magic. Repetition with focus on improvement will help create a magical flow that is too strong to ignore.
Athletes cast the same spells over and over again to reach a level of excellence that only a few experience. Their movements become magical. Some develop their capacity for strong magic to such a degree that they make impossible movements seem easy. They have worked the magic and now the magic is another form of expression for them.
I cast spells to grasp your attention and entertain you for a time with humorous points of view. Magic always happens when you cast spells. Sometimes I miss when I cast, and the magical result isn’t what I intended. Then there are times when the spells work and the moment becomes sublime as my intention has become a reality.
You want to be magical? Cast a spell.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Church? Really? Yeah...
Church…who needs it? Men do, that’s who. If you find your self single and in need of some companionship, church is a great place to meet the ladies. Church is one of the last places left that give men an advantage just for being men. I say use that advantage and start looking for your next girlfriend.
I know that church might not be compatible with your present lifestyle. It’s okay the more conflicted you are the more attracted the women will be to your vulnerability. Even unemployed, alcoholic deadbeat dads are getting action. You can too. If you follow a couple of guidelines, you can become the stallion of the third pew.
Arrive early and claim a spot in the middle of the church. You have to be seen. A new man in church is news that spreads like wild fire. The women know you’re there. Make it easy for them by being visible. Wear a red shirt and you will be eating lunch with one of the women that will seat themselves strategically next to you. You won’t even have to pay.
After announcements, there is a quick meet and greet. This is your time to shine. Don’t be stingy with the familiar touches. Ask a potential playmate to pray with you to get some alone time together. Just ask “Will you pray with me?” She can’t say no. When you do pray, make sure you hold hands. Trust me.
If you have followed these very simple steps you are well on your way to being asked to lunch after church. Go! This is the time when women will rationalize that it is the work of the Lord that brought you to church and now the Lord is using her to make you a better person. It will help a lot if you mention that you feel like God is leading you on an adventure. Could be true, but it doesn’t matter. You have now become an exciting new element in this woman’s life. That excitement leads to sex.
Your options are limited to the size of the church. Pick a large church with decent music and there will be ladies present. Good luck Gentlemen, I will see you next Sunday. I’ll be wearing red.
I know that church might not be compatible with your present lifestyle. It’s okay the more conflicted you are the more attracted the women will be to your vulnerability. Even unemployed, alcoholic deadbeat dads are getting action. You can too. If you follow a couple of guidelines, you can become the stallion of the third pew.
Arrive early and claim a spot in the middle of the church. You have to be seen. A new man in church is news that spreads like wild fire. The women know you’re there. Make it easy for them by being visible. Wear a red shirt and you will be eating lunch with one of the women that will seat themselves strategically next to you. You won’t even have to pay.
After announcements, there is a quick meet and greet. This is your time to shine. Don’t be stingy with the familiar touches. Ask a potential playmate to pray with you to get some alone time together. Just ask “Will you pray with me?” She can’t say no. When you do pray, make sure you hold hands. Trust me.
If you have followed these very simple steps you are well on your way to being asked to lunch after church. Go! This is the time when women will rationalize that it is the work of the Lord that brought you to church and now the Lord is using her to make you a better person. It will help a lot if you mention that you feel like God is leading you on an adventure. Could be true, but it doesn’t matter. You have now become an exciting new element in this woman’s life. That excitement leads to sex.
Your options are limited to the size of the church. Pick a large church with decent music and there will be ladies present. Good luck Gentlemen, I will see you next Sunday. I’ll be wearing red.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Stretching the truth
The verse John 8:32 from the Bible; “...You will know the Truth and the Truth will set you free” is true. But it's not because it is considered the infallible word of God. It is because it's a function of quantum physics.
Is there really an absolute truth? It is getting harder for me to believe that there is. If you ask three witnesses to a traffic accident what they saw, you will get three different truths.
Witness 1. “I saw the whole thing and this is exactly how it happened…”
Witness 2. “The yellow light was flashing…”
Witness 3. “…a flash of light! Looked like an Alien invasion…yeah…wow what was the question?”
Truth is like time…its relative. If we take the formulas from quantum physics and substitute truth for time in the equations; It may actually make the statement, “The check is in the mail” true. Regardless of whether you actually sent the check or not, it can be calculated to be probable that the check is in fact in the mail…and that’s good enough for me.
Truth can be scary; people will march straight to their death for their version of it. My God is bigger than your god…that’s why we all must die! I hate to see that guy coming. I know he’s bitter because no one invites him to fun parties.
Now that everything has a probability to be true, I can feel better about the truths the government and corporate moguls are saying. I don’t feel lied to anymore. BP thinks the spill is “bad” and the company “care” about the Gulf Shores. It’s true, only the words were changed to protect the innocent. Losing money is “bad” and we “care” about keeping cleanup costs down.
You have to “spin” it to win it. I can finally believe the politicians when they tell me. “These policies are in your best interest.” That means exactly the same thing as, “We are just making this up as we go. Hey let’s print some money!”
Truth can be manipulated and still be true. I am glad that no one ever lies to me anymore. Because now I know its true, it’s all true. And the truth has set me free.
Is there really an absolute truth? It is getting harder for me to believe that there is. If you ask three witnesses to a traffic accident what they saw, you will get three different truths.
Witness 1. “I saw the whole thing and this is exactly how it happened…”
Witness 2. “The yellow light was flashing…”
Witness 3. “…a flash of light! Looked like an Alien invasion…yeah…wow what was the question?”
Truth is like time…its relative. If we take the formulas from quantum physics and substitute truth for time in the equations; It may actually make the statement, “The check is in the mail” true. Regardless of whether you actually sent the check or not, it can be calculated to be probable that the check is in fact in the mail…and that’s good enough for me.
Truth can be scary; people will march straight to their death for their version of it. My God is bigger than your god…that’s why we all must die! I hate to see that guy coming. I know he’s bitter because no one invites him to fun parties.
Now that everything has a probability to be true, I can feel better about the truths the government and corporate moguls are saying. I don’t feel lied to anymore. BP thinks the spill is “bad” and the company “care” about the Gulf Shores. It’s true, only the words were changed to protect the innocent. Losing money is “bad” and we “care” about keeping cleanup costs down.
You have to “spin” it to win it. I can finally believe the politicians when they tell me. “These policies are in your best interest.” That means exactly the same thing as, “We are just making this up as we go. Hey let’s print some money!”
Truth can be manipulated and still be true. I am glad that no one ever lies to me anymore. Because now I know its true, it’s all true. And the truth has set me free.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Telephone Interview...
I’m single and I think it is because I am unemployed. Nothing attracts women faster than not being able to afford to date. I have been looking for a job for a while now. I did get a call last week for a telephone interview, while I was driving in rush hour traffic;
Dickey Bill: Hello
Lady from Human Resources: Dickey Bill Wagner I would like to ask you a couple of questions to try and qualify you for the position. First question, what makes you a good candidate for our company?
DB: I really enjoy meeting new people and helping them find solutions to make their life just a little bit easier… FUCK YOU ASSHOLE PICK A LANE! I have a strong work ethic and leadership skills.
LfHR: Okay…good tell me about a time that you had to put together a team and how did you motivate them?
DB: I am sensitive to different points of views…HEY DICKHEAD, I’M DRIVING HERE.JESUS WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DRIVE CHINA? ...I am really sensitive to international relations. I motivate my team through positive reinforcement. I THINK YOU NEED MY FOOT RIGHT IN YOUR ASS! C’MON!
LfHR: Very good! One last question Dickey Bill and we will be through, where do you see yourself in five years time?
DB: That’s an excellent question. I have charted out some challenging goals as part of my five year plan. I HOPE WE MAKE IT TO THE NEXT BLOCK BECAUSE WE’RE NOT MOOOVIINNG!!!! I am flexible and can multitask.
LfHR: That’s fine multitasking I got it. We will let you know soon what we decide. Bye
DB: Good bye…
They offered me the job! I was just what they were looking for a manager that sends mixed signals. We will see if it works out, the background check is always dicey. I can never escape that incident in New Orleans.
Dickey Bill: Hello
Lady from Human Resources: Dickey Bill Wagner I would like to ask you a couple of questions to try and qualify you for the position. First question, what makes you a good candidate for our company?
DB: I really enjoy meeting new people and helping them find solutions to make their life just a little bit easier… FUCK YOU ASSHOLE PICK A LANE! I have a strong work ethic and leadership skills.
LfHR: Okay…good tell me about a time that you had to put together a team and how did you motivate them?
DB: I am sensitive to different points of views…HEY DICKHEAD, I’M DRIVING HERE.JESUS WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DRIVE CHINA? ...I am really sensitive to international relations. I motivate my team through positive reinforcement. I THINK YOU NEED MY FOOT RIGHT IN YOUR ASS! C’MON!
LfHR: Very good! One last question Dickey Bill and we will be through, where do you see yourself in five years time?
DB: That’s an excellent question. I have charted out some challenging goals as part of my five year plan. I HOPE WE MAKE IT TO THE NEXT BLOCK BECAUSE WE’RE NOT MOOOVIINNG!!!! I am flexible and can multitask.
LfHR: That’s fine multitasking I got it. We will let you know soon what we decide. Bye
DB: Good bye…
They offered me the job! I was just what they were looking for a manager that sends mixed signals. We will see if it works out, the background check is always dicey. I can never escape that incident in New Orleans.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
It is never what you expect...
Preconceived notions about people will always disappoint you. I am never what anyone expects. I know because I hear it all the time. “You are not who I imagined you to be.” That is a statement I have heard over and over throughout my life. I guess I have grown numb to the disappointed looks from the people who have imagined me different.
One friend admitted to me, that when he first heard my name Dickey Bill Wagner, he had pictured a big hairy guy coming down from the mountains to stake a claim in comedy. He had built the mountain man prospector up in his mind so much, that when we were introduced, he said “You’re not Dickey Bill…are you?” I didn’t know why but it was there; I saw the disappointment. Sorry Bud.
I got set up with a woman for a blind date. We had talked on the phone and never discussed our physical descriptions. We were going to leave for the date from my office. I was at the front desk when she asked the receptionist to see me. The receptionist said that I was right here. I smiled because she was hot. I saw it, the look. She recovered quickly and we had a fun evening. Later I did ask about me being there at the front desk. She told me that she imagined I was black. I felt the pressure about that when it was time to have sex…I’m not black, I’m sorry.
I’ve been told I was shorter, taller, fatter, and skinnier than what they thought from hearing my name. I guess I could have been a smack down pro-wrestler or a southern rock band guitarist or even an insurance salesman. From the imagination of others I have become one big let down. Once again I apologize.
That is a lot of pressure. However I do understand preconceived notions because I have them too. I hear a voice on the phone and I try to imagine what that person looks like. More often than not I am wrong. I know this and expect it. People build up an idea until it is now their new reality. When their reality meets the truth, it’s always my fault that now things ain’t quite right.
Its okay, I numb remember? I have grown accustomed to disappointing everyone. My friends, my family, yes even my mother has had delusions as to who I am. When she found out the truth she instantly denied it and went right back believing that her boy Dickey Bill Wagner was going to be a Baptist minister. She said she really likes the sound of Reverend Dickey Bill Wagner. I do too, but I just don’t think there is enough grace in the world to fix that incident in New Orleans. Sorry Mom.
There you have it. Things are never what you expect them to be. Be careful when your imagination starts working overtime. I just don’t want you to be disappointed too.
One friend admitted to me, that when he first heard my name Dickey Bill Wagner, he had pictured a big hairy guy coming down from the mountains to stake a claim in comedy. He had built the mountain man prospector up in his mind so much, that when we were introduced, he said “You’re not Dickey Bill…are you?” I didn’t know why but it was there; I saw the disappointment. Sorry Bud.
I got set up with a woman for a blind date. We had talked on the phone and never discussed our physical descriptions. We were going to leave for the date from my office. I was at the front desk when she asked the receptionist to see me. The receptionist said that I was right here. I smiled because she was hot. I saw it, the look. She recovered quickly and we had a fun evening. Later I did ask about me being there at the front desk. She told me that she imagined I was black. I felt the pressure about that when it was time to have sex…I’m not black, I’m sorry.
I’ve been told I was shorter, taller, fatter, and skinnier than what they thought from hearing my name. I guess I could have been a smack down pro-wrestler or a southern rock band guitarist or even an insurance salesman. From the imagination of others I have become one big let down. Once again I apologize.
That is a lot of pressure. However I do understand preconceived notions because I have them too. I hear a voice on the phone and I try to imagine what that person looks like. More often than not I am wrong. I know this and expect it. People build up an idea until it is now their new reality. When their reality meets the truth, it’s always my fault that now things ain’t quite right.
Its okay, I numb remember? I have grown accustomed to disappointing everyone. My friends, my family, yes even my mother has had delusions as to who I am. When she found out the truth she instantly denied it and went right back believing that her boy Dickey Bill Wagner was going to be a Baptist minister. She said she really likes the sound of Reverend Dickey Bill Wagner. I do too, but I just don’t think there is enough grace in the world to fix that incident in New Orleans. Sorry Mom.
There you have it. Things are never what you expect them to be. Be careful when your imagination starts working overtime. I just don’t want you to be disappointed too.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Who Smells Like Cheese?
It is often said that body odor smells like cheese, strong smelly stinky cheese. Most people in the USA would find the smell offensive. Yet there is a minority of people who find people who smell like cheese very attractive. Other cultures base their sexual prowess on the fact that they smell like cheese.
It is rumored that the French smell like limburger cheese. I don’t how accurate that statement is. I have never had the opportunity to sniff a French citizen. Still it’s plausible because the women have hairy armpits. Not that hairy armpits cause the cheesy smell, but it doesn’t hurt. Hairy or not, the French have a pretty good reputation as lovers.
I once met a group of people from the Middle East. They had the brightest smiles. They smelled like a cheese factory. Living in the desert where water is precious. You learn to like the musky smell of cheese. I don’t judge. It doesn’t matter to me if someone smells like cheese. I’ll just open a window.
The problem I’ve seen is the person who likes the smell. I’m not just talking like…People who smell like cheese create an olfactory euphoria that leads to an increased libido. These people get turned on by passing homeless people, they just can’t help it. The smell of cheese is a sensual experience. Imagine meeting someone special that smells better than Bleu. The cheesy smelling person has responded warmly to your attention and a relationship blossoms. Soon friends and family stop inviting you to functions. They never have time to visit anymore.
The situation puzzles you, then you hear a comment on the bus. “My God did something die in here?” You think to yourself; hmmm not everyone likes people who smell like cheese. That’s good thinking!
However you do have options. The old saying “When in Rome…” applies here. You can move to Pakistan or India. Different cheesy smells but every bit as potent as the laundry room at the mission. Everyday you can breathe in the heady odor of a population that smells like cheese! If you live in the USA, your partner is going to have to clean up once in a while. Just so you can visit the family. You can join or start a support group. With social networks and craigslist it’s never been easier to do.
Many times people do not understand a person who lives their dream. It happens all the time. Did people question Alexander the Great when Greece just wasn’t enough for him, He wanted the whole world? You bet they did. And people will question you regarding your love for people who smell like cheese. Understand that only fellow cheese lovers will accept you with open arms. Everyone else will be holding their breath. Be true to yourself and do what it takes to get next to someone who smells like cheese.
It is rumored that the French smell like limburger cheese. I don’t how accurate that statement is. I have never had the opportunity to sniff a French citizen. Still it’s plausible because the women have hairy armpits. Not that hairy armpits cause the cheesy smell, but it doesn’t hurt. Hairy or not, the French have a pretty good reputation as lovers.
I once met a group of people from the Middle East. They had the brightest smiles. They smelled like a cheese factory. Living in the desert where water is precious. You learn to like the musky smell of cheese. I don’t judge. It doesn’t matter to me if someone smells like cheese. I’ll just open a window.
The problem I’ve seen is the person who likes the smell. I’m not just talking like…People who smell like cheese create an olfactory euphoria that leads to an increased libido. These people get turned on by passing homeless people, they just can’t help it. The smell of cheese is a sensual experience. Imagine meeting someone special that smells better than Bleu. The cheesy smelling person has responded warmly to your attention and a relationship blossoms. Soon friends and family stop inviting you to functions. They never have time to visit anymore.
The situation puzzles you, then you hear a comment on the bus. “My God did something die in here?” You think to yourself; hmmm not everyone likes people who smell like cheese. That’s good thinking!
However you do have options. The old saying “When in Rome…” applies here. You can move to Pakistan or India. Different cheesy smells but every bit as potent as the laundry room at the mission. Everyday you can breathe in the heady odor of a population that smells like cheese! If you live in the USA, your partner is going to have to clean up once in a while. Just so you can visit the family. You can join or start a support group. With social networks and craigslist it’s never been easier to do.
Many times people do not understand a person who lives their dream. It happens all the time. Did people question Alexander the Great when Greece just wasn’t enough for him, He wanted the whole world? You bet they did. And people will question you regarding your love for people who smell like cheese. Understand that only fellow cheese lovers will accept you with open arms. Everyone else will be holding their breath. Be true to yourself and do what it takes to get next to someone who smells like cheese.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Secrets of a Successful Panhandler!!
Happy Independence Day everyone! Invariably, someone always loses body parts on the 4th of July. “Hey what happened to Jim Bob?” “He blew his opposable thumbs off lighting the M80 Atomic Blow.” Uncle Al said. “I know he is going to be pissed because he just signed up for unlimited texting.” Try to have a safe holiday!
But before you rush off let me tell you about an incredible offer available. Dickey Bill Wagner is teaching you all the secrets in his two day intensive workshop; Secrets of a successful panhandler. As a former Banker, Dickey Bill Wagner asked for money everyday. Now he is taking those skills to the streets.
At the workshop you will learn:
• How to apply the rule- Location Location Location
• The power words you MUST misspell to create cash flow
• Never park your Lexus on the same corner you hold your sign
For just a few dollars more you can receive the gold membership, which includes a starter kit (sharpee and piece of cardboard) and a copy of my bestselling book Who Smells like Cheese? Wait there is more! We will offer a door prize for a complete makeover and a complimentary audit of the class Profit through powerful presentation, the art of looking pitiful.
Testimonial: Chik Fil A Cow Sign Holder and former CEO Washington Mutual Bank
After attending Dickey Bill’s Workshop, I saw profits my next day on the corner. It was my professionalism in panhandling that got me the Chik Fil A gig. Thanks Dickey Bill you changed my life.
You are welcome! And so are you. If you’re still reading this and you need a career, then let me help you jump start your earnings.
But before you rush off let me tell you about an incredible offer available. Dickey Bill Wagner is teaching you all the secrets in his two day intensive workshop; Secrets of a successful panhandler. As a former Banker, Dickey Bill Wagner asked for money everyday. Now he is taking those skills to the streets.
At the workshop you will learn:
• How to apply the rule- Location Location Location
• The power words you MUST misspell to create cash flow
• Never park your Lexus on the same corner you hold your sign
For just a few dollars more you can receive the gold membership, which includes a starter kit (sharpee and piece of cardboard) and a copy of my bestselling book Who Smells like Cheese? Wait there is more! We will offer a door prize for a complete makeover and a complimentary audit of the class Profit through powerful presentation, the art of looking pitiful.
Testimonial: Chik Fil A Cow Sign Holder and former CEO Washington Mutual Bank
After attending Dickey Bill’s Workshop, I saw profits my next day on the corner. It was my professionalism in panhandling that got me the Chik Fil A gig. Thanks Dickey Bill you changed my life.
You are welcome! And so are you. If you’re still reading this and you need a career, then let me help you jump start your earnings.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Queen of the Jungle
Hollywood does add artistic license to stories and they should. You can usually find the true story if you look close enough.I was pondering the story of Tarzan Lord of the Jungle. The King Gorilla weighed 800lbs. Tarzan at a buck-eighty is no match for that. It is totally obvious to me that Tarzan was not the Alpha male in the jungle. Hollywood always beefs up a story so that a homosexual man will become a sex symbol for the masses.
Yes I said I think Tarzan was a South African metro sexual gay man. He should have been called "Tarzan Queen of the Jungle". Come on, He lives with apes and he is perfectly manscaped. Nothing yells "freak" louder than a leather thong. I've seen them on Bourbon St, it screams "I'm a bad boy, please punish me."
I've even pondered the probability of Tarzan being molested by the bull gorilla's. Hmmm we as mankind have evolved from apes, and the men in our species will basically copulate with anything. Tarzan was raised in the fashion of being the new guy in a Turkish prison. It's okay you got to do what you have to do to survive. Tarzan often traded favors for extra fruit.
Once Jane got him to New York, Tarzan got a job being a fashion editor for Cosmo. He is still a swinger. The ladies just love his fantastic fashion sense. It's funny Tarzan did his famous yell at a party but it sounded like the kickoff call for the Pride Parade.
"hheeeeyyYYEEEEYYYYYYeeeeyyeeeeee!"
He did that call and was immediately surrounded by the male models from Cosmo. At least that is how legend describes it. Now Tarzan is doing quite well, He has been on Oprah promoting his story; Survival in the jungle Quest for Equality. He has a condo in Manhatten and a shaved poodle that he dresses in a a leather thong. You can say eccentric I call it the circle of life.
Yes I said I think Tarzan was a South African metro sexual gay man. He should have been called "Tarzan Queen of the Jungle". Come on, He lives with apes and he is perfectly manscaped. Nothing yells "freak" louder than a leather thong. I've seen them on Bourbon St, it screams "I'm a bad boy, please punish me."
I've even pondered the probability of Tarzan being molested by the bull gorilla's. Hmmm we as mankind have evolved from apes, and the men in our species will basically copulate with anything. Tarzan was raised in the fashion of being the new guy in a Turkish prison. It's okay you got to do what you have to do to survive. Tarzan often traded favors for extra fruit.
Once Jane got him to New York, Tarzan got a job being a fashion editor for Cosmo. He is still a swinger. The ladies just love his fantastic fashion sense. It's funny Tarzan did his famous yell at a party but it sounded like the kickoff call for the Pride Parade.
"hheeeeyyYYEEEEYYYYYYeeeeyyeeeeee!"
He did that call and was immediately surrounded by the male models from Cosmo. At least that is how legend describes it. Now Tarzan is doing quite well, He has been on Oprah promoting his story; Survival in the jungle Quest for Equality. He has a condo in Manhatten and a shaved poodle that he dresses in a a leather thong. You can say eccentric I call it the circle of life.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Coffee...I love coffee
Hi my name is Dickey Bill and I am an addict. I am addicted to coffee. I know I am because I need to drink it just to feel normal. This is a strange idea to me, because I really don’t know what feeling normal is like. I drink coffee and I feel the warmth spread through out my body. Ahhh I am starting to relax…no I am starting to be stimulated into productive activity…wait coffee does both. It is a wonder drink.
That is what it is like for me to drink coffee; before I do I am a completely different person. I am not going to say “Good morning” to you. Because I don’t care, I am on a mission to caffeinate. I actually tried to quit, that was a mistake. I made it to eleven AM. I couldn’t function. I needed coffee just to go get coffee. Some things you just have to accept.
I do make my own coffee when I am desperate. For some reason, coffee from a coffee shop seems to taste better. Once my grandmother made me coffee and it was so good. The warmth was there but no relaxation and no stimulation. I was confused and lethargic. I looked in her cupboard for I was suspicious that something wasn’t right. There it was decaf coffee! What? Why would Grandma play this awful joke on me? She loves coffee too. She told me she had to drink decaf for medical reasons. Grandma is not a true addict. A true coffee addict drinks it regardless of the risk. Much like smokers smoke even though they are wearing oxygen masks.
I will never quit. Yes I do have a crazy obsessive devotion to coffee. It is my elixir of life. Coffee is my ambrosia that starts my day in the right direction. Regardless I am too weak to even want to quit. Parents warn your children, they are one sip away from having to drink coffee the rest of their lives.
That is what it is like for me to drink coffee; before I do I am a completely different person. I am not going to say “Good morning” to you. Because I don’t care, I am on a mission to caffeinate. I actually tried to quit, that was a mistake. I made it to eleven AM. I couldn’t function. I needed coffee just to go get coffee. Some things you just have to accept.
I do make my own coffee when I am desperate. For some reason, coffee from a coffee shop seems to taste better. Once my grandmother made me coffee and it was so good. The warmth was there but no relaxation and no stimulation. I was confused and lethargic. I looked in her cupboard for I was suspicious that something wasn’t right. There it was decaf coffee! What? Why would Grandma play this awful joke on me? She loves coffee too. She told me she had to drink decaf for medical reasons. Grandma is not a true addict. A true coffee addict drinks it regardless of the risk. Much like smokers smoke even though they are wearing oxygen masks.
I will never quit. Yes I do have a crazy obsessive devotion to coffee. It is my elixir of life. Coffee is my ambrosia that starts my day in the right direction. Regardless I am too weak to even want to quit. Parents warn your children, they are one sip away from having to drink coffee the rest of their lives.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Contest abound...I think I can beat a woman
I had a dream last night. I can’t tell if it is a sexist dream. It probably is, but because it was so unusual for me, I will describe it.
I was in a contest. I felt I was favored to win. A woman walks up to me carrying a shovel. She said “I brought this to bury you…I will win today.” I smile because I like her attitude. I am amused and excited by her brazen challenge. My thoughts are on me and my outstanding skill level. She obviously doesn’t know who I am or she would realize she has already lost.
As she stood with the posture of a champion, I hear Helen Reddy singing in the background. “I am strong…I am invincible…la la la.” Helen Reddy, really, what kind of dream is this? That is so cute, she wants to win.
I was beaten soundly by this arrogant bitch. Who does she think she is parading around here like that? I hate her, I do I hate her. No I don’t. I think I love her.
This dream has perplexed me. I never thought that I had gender issues. I still don't think I do. I have competed in different types of contests and I appreciate the contestants that are ‘in it to win it’. Man, woman or alien (yes even the illegal ones) have my respect when they compete with their best game.
I don’t think I would feel humiliation from being beaten by a woman. Unless the contest involved being manly. Being less manly than a woman would suck. I digress.
I believe the dreams lesson was in my focus. The woman was there to win and that is all she concentrated on. I was too busy judging her to concentrate on the task at hand. Hmmm. I also feel the woman in my dream represented a competitor that I could win against, especially if it was a fighting contest. Then again, anything can happen in a contest.
Yes it probably is sexist. Oh well it is good to be the king at least in my dreams.
I was in a contest. I felt I was favored to win. A woman walks up to me carrying a shovel. She said “I brought this to bury you…I will win today.” I smile because I like her attitude. I am amused and excited by her brazen challenge. My thoughts are on me and my outstanding skill level. She obviously doesn’t know who I am or she would realize she has already lost.
As she stood with the posture of a champion, I hear Helen Reddy singing in the background. “I am strong…I am invincible…la la la.” Helen Reddy, really, what kind of dream is this? That is so cute, she wants to win.
I was beaten soundly by this arrogant bitch. Who does she think she is parading around here like that? I hate her, I do I hate her. No I don’t. I think I love her.
This dream has perplexed me. I never thought that I had gender issues. I still don't think I do. I have competed in different types of contests and I appreciate the contestants that are ‘in it to win it’. Man, woman or alien (yes even the illegal ones) have my respect when they compete with their best game.
I don’t think I would feel humiliation from being beaten by a woman. Unless the contest involved being manly. Being less manly than a woman would suck. I digress.
I believe the dreams lesson was in my focus. The woman was there to win and that is all she concentrated on. I was too busy judging her to concentrate on the task at hand. Hmmm. I also feel the woman in my dream represented a competitor that I could win against, especially if it was a fighting contest. Then again, anything can happen in a contest.
Yes it probably is sexist. Oh well it is good to be the king at least in my dreams.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Evolution of a Joke
I love performing stand up comedy. I know immediately how I am doing. When I have a connection with the audience, everybody laughs including me. If I am off, I know by the blank stares, that something needs to improve. The best comedians make there routines seem spontaneous and fresh and easy.
I will tell you how a joke for me generally evolves. It starts with an idea that strikes me as funny. Second step is to write a joke about that funny idea. Finally test the joke on an unsuspecting audience…much like you.
Funny ideas are everywhere. Most ideas can be delivered in a fashion that will make people laugh. Some ideas are distasteful and even offensive yet crowds of people will be close to tears from laughing so hard.
It is interesting to note that humor incorporates real pain as subjects for a joke. For example, I sustained massive injury and humiliation from a toddler’s toy. Injury plus humiliation equals pain. A thought occurred to me, Are toddler toys funny? It depends, do I think its funny when I reach for a cup late at night, my hip hits the alphabet toy. I hear G g…g…g…G is for Gorilla!!! It startles me every single time it happens, and it happens a lot. It’s kind of amusing but it gets better. I was startled so much that I knocked over some spices on the counter, as they were falling I stepped forward to catch the items rolling off the counter. I stepped onto a toy airplane that took off to the tune of; High and Low, High and Low, Engine starts and away we go. I hit my head on the floor and I am seeing stars. I reach up to try to stand back up and hit the Alphabet toy and I swear I hear; H h…h…h… H is for Help…and…Hospital.
Yes I do think that is humorous and it’s true. Bill Cosby says the true stories are always relatable to the audience. He can hold an audiences attention for two hours telling stories that are true for all of us.
I have an idea, now I need to write a joke about toddler toys. I will write the word toddler toys on a piece of paper. Then I will write all of my assumptions about toddler toys. Writing humor has to allow for assumptions. There is no need to describe elaborate setups, as we will think of different things when toddler toys is introduced but chances are they will be toys. One assumption that I listed was that these toys are safe. I wrote this…
Regarding my child, safety is my biggest priority. I trust Fisher Price…will kill me.
I love having new material. I feel like a professional when I am writing jokes. Even so, I need to tell this joke to an audience. Sometimes new jokes work well often they don’t. It is the feedback from the audience that dictates what happens to a joke. The audience laughs it stays. If they smile it needs work. If no laugh the joke will be; Okay cross that off the list.
There are a few shows that I participate in that I introduce new material. I record the routines and individually rate the jokes by the audience response. The response also helps me arrange the jokes for maximum entertainment.
This is my general process for writing and performing jokes. It starts with an idea. Next write a joke with plenty of room for assumptions. Then test the joke in a routine. The answer to the question that may be lingering in your mind is yes. Yes our conversation may become my best joke of the week. I always ask permission.
Let me close with thought that was generated at Noonshiners.
California is bankrupt…but I have a plan that will get them quickly from red to black…A 5% tax on silicone implants…it’s not a flat tax…
I will tell you how a joke for me generally evolves. It starts with an idea that strikes me as funny. Second step is to write a joke about that funny idea. Finally test the joke on an unsuspecting audience…much like you.
Funny ideas are everywhere. Most ideas can be delivered in a fashion that will make people laugh. Some ideas are distasteful and even offensive yet crowds of people will be close to tears from laughing so hard.
It is interesting to note that humor incorporates real pain as subjects for a joke. For example, I sustained massive injury and humiliation from a toddler’s toy. Injury plus humiliation equals pain. A thought occurred to me, Are toddler toys funny? It depends, do I think its funny when I reach for a cup late at night, my hip hits the alphabet toy. I hear G g…g…g…G is for Gorilla!!! It startles me every single time it happens, and it happens a lot. It’s kind of amusing but it gets better. I was startled so much that I knocked over some spices on the counter, as they were falling I stepped forward to catch the items rolling off the counter. I stepped onto a toy airplane that took off to the tune of; High and Low, High and Low, Engine starts and away we go. I hit my head on the floor and I am seeing stars. I reach up to try to stand back up and hit the Alphabet toy and I swear I hear; H h…h…h… H is for Help…and…Hospital.
Yes I do think that is humorous and it’s true. Bill Cosby says the true stories are always relatable to the audience. He can hold an audiences attention for two hours telling stories that are true for all of us.
I have an idea, now I need to write a joke about toddler toys. I will write the word toddler toys on a piece of paper. Then I will write all of my assumptions about toddler toys. Writing humor has to allow for assumptions. There is no need to describe elaborate setups, as we will think of different things when toddler toys is introduced but chances are they will be toys. One assumption that I listed was that these toys are safe. I wrote this…
Regarding my child, safety is my biggest priority. I trust Fisher Price…will kill me.
I love having new material. I feel like a professional when I am writing jokes. Even so, I need to tell this joke to an audience. Sometimes new jokes work well often they don’t. It is the feedback from the audience that dictates what happens to a joke. The audience laughs it stays. If they smile it needs work. If no laugh the joke will be; Okay cross that off the list.
There are a few shows that I participate in that I introduce new material. I record the routines and individually rate the jokes by the audience response. The response also helps me arrange the jokes for maximum entertainment.
This is my general process for writing and performing jokes. It starts with an idea. Next write a joke with plenty of room for assumptions. Then test the joke in a routine. The answer to the question that may be lingering in your mind is yes. Yes our conversation may become my best joke of the week. I always ask permission.
Let me close with thought that was generated at Noonshiners.
California is bankrupt…but I have a plan that will get them quickly from red to black…A 5% tax on silicone implants…it’s not a flat tax…
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Captain Pilot has a second job at Starbucks
I have to fly to the east coast next week and I am feeling just a little bit nervous. I can’t help but worry about the pilot. Is he going to be alert and well rested? Chances are…no. This glamorous job that some men and woman have dreamed of since childhood doesn’t pay very well. In fact, I make more money holding a sign on a busy street corner than pilots do. They do have the benefit of mobility, but these folks usually have to take on a second job…to eat.
The problem with second jobs is that it makes you tired. I know. I had two jobs once and I slept through HellRaiser while on a date. I was always tired. My trepidation is reinforced by listening to one pilot’s conversation while we were boarding my last flight. “Man these babies’s can practically fly themselves. I’ll think I’ll crash…” If he said anything after CRASH, I didn’t hear it. Crash, in my opinion is a bad word to use in the aviation industry. A pilot saying it is just wrong. I was so jumpy on that flight that the other passengers thought I suffered Tourettes Syndrome. Every bump from turbulence had me hollering out “LOOORRD! I DON”T WANNA DIE!!!” Yes I was that guy.
What are the airlines thinking? It’s all about the almighty dollar bill. It’s not the airlines fault everyone is doing it. The most important jobs pay the least. Doctors will be catching up with pilots soon and that’s going to be strange seeing my doctor working in Starbucks after telling me to cut out my caffeine.
These people fly for the sheer love of doing it. That is what I hold onto when I am 35,000 feet in air moving fast through the sky. I am trusting that Captain Pilot is so into being a pilot, that he does a good job. I know he is tired. Hopefully the pilot’s second job is also Starbucks.
Those guys never need to sleep.
Pilots are professionals they should be able to make ends meet on the pay they get as a pilot. The only reason I even care is because I am in the plane with them. I want them well rested and alert not tired from bar tending until 2:00am and then hooking up with his sex buddy at 3:30am. Then Captain Pilot is right on time for the 6:00am flight to South Carolina.
Well the airlines have their priorities, hell they think flying through Ash from erupting volcanoes is perfectly safe. “Well…it’s probably worth the risk. If someone dies then we will know for sure.” Meanwhile “We need to be in the air to make money! That’s why we have insurance."
Next week I’m back in the air. Yes I am nervous, I will definitely avoid looking to see who the plane’s captain is.
The problem with second jobs is that it makes you tired. I know. I had two jobs once and I slept through HellRaiser while on a date. I was always tired. My trepidation is reinforced by listening to one pilot’s conversation while we were boarding my last flight. “Man these babies’s can practically fly themselves. I’ll think I’ll crash…” If he said anything after CRASH, I didn’t hear it. Crash, in my opinion is a bad word to use in the aviation industry. A pilot saying it is just wrong. I was so jumpy on that flight that the other passengers thought I suffered Tourettes Syndrome. Every bump from turbulence had me hollering out “LOOORRD! I DON”T WANNA DIE!!!” Yes I was that guy.
What are the airlines thinking? It’s all about the almighty dollar bill. It’s not the airlines fault everyone is doing it. The most important jobs pay the least. Doctors will be catching up with pilots soon and that’s going to be strange seeing my doctor working in Starbucks after telling me to cut out my caffeine.
These people fly for the sheer love of doing it. That is what I hold onto when I am 35,000 feet in air moving fast through the sky. I am trusting that Captain Pilot is so into being a pilot, that he does a good job. I know he is tired. Hopefully the pilot’s second job is also Starbucks.
Those guys never need to sleep.
Pilots are professionals they should be able to make ends meet on the pay they get as a pilot. The only reason I even care is because I am in the plane with them. I want them well rested and alert not tired from bar tending until 2:00am and then hooking up with his sex buddy at 3:30am. Then Captain Pilot is right on time for the 6:00am flight to South Carolina.
Well the airlines have their priorities, hell they think flying through Ash from erupting volcanoes is perfectly safe. “Well…it’s probably worth the risk. If someone dies then we will know for sure.” Meanwhile “We need to be in the air to make money! That’s why we have insurance."
Next week I’m back in the air. Yes I am nervous, I will definitely avoid looking to see who the plane’s captain is.
Monday, March 29, 2010
They really need to loosen up...
I tried yoga. I quickly found out that it was not for me. It wasn't just one thing that made yoga wrong for me, but a bunch of things that added up to...disaster. Yes I know yoga is supposed to be very good for me. Nothing says "good times" like stretching and twisting yourself into a human knot them trying to breathe. Sounds like fun if you're a masochist.
I needed to find out what all the hoopla was about with this form of physical fitness so I enrolled in a class.
Did you know that there is proper yoga etiquette when entering the class?
I didn't.
Apparently, it isn't polite to disturb anyone's inner peace. You just don't go up to the person sitting quietly in a lotus position and say enthusiastically, "HI! I'm DICKEY BILL WAGNER and this is my FIRST YOGA CLASS, I'M SO EXCITED!" All I heard was "shhhh!" from all corners of the room. (Awkward) Wow I hope yoga works because these people need to loosen up.
The workout starts simply enough then the instructor calls out the Eagle pose. Who named this pose? The yogi who invented the eagle pose must have had some imagination, because I didn't see an eagle there...maybe one that hit the ground at one hundred miles per hour. I started laughing at my wit, which created a tension in the room. Really why is everyone so uptight in yoga class?
The clincher that yoga was not for me was the standing bow pose. I pulled my leg up just a little to far and I felt a click. My body was locked up in this pose. The moment went really bad when I rolled full pose into four yoga students next to me. We were a pile of intertwined sweaty bodies. I would have enjoyed that if I wasn't still stuck in the standing bow pose. There I was howling in pain and really disrupting the inner peace of everyone present and most of the class next door. The yoga class was dismissed early with a lot of apologies from the instructor. The instructor tapped my solar plexus and all of a sudden my body released its pose.
I said "thanks" to the instructor and back-pedaled out the door with much embarrassment. I guess I wasn't meant to be a yogi.
I needed to find out what all the hoopla was about with this form of physical fitness so I enrolled in a class.
Did you know that there is proper yoga etiquette when entering the class?
I didn't.
Apparently, it isn't polite to disturb anyone's inner peace. You just don't go up to the person sitting quietly in a lotus position and say enthusiastically, "HI! I'm DICKEY BILL WAGNER and this is my FIRST YOGA CLASS, I'M SO EXCITED!" All I heard was "shhhh!" from all corners of the room. (Awkward) Wow I hope yoga works because these people need to loosen up.
The workout starts simply enough then the instructor calls out the Eagle pose. Who named this pose? The yogi who invented the eagle pose must have had some imagination, because I didn't see an eagle there...maybe one that hit the ground at one hundred miles per hour. I started laughing at my wit, which created a tension in the room. Really why is everyone so uptight in yoga class?
The clincher that yoga was not for me was the standing bow pose. I pulled my leg up just a little to far and I felt a click. My body was locked up in this pose. The moment went really bad when I rolled full pose into four yoga students next to me. We were a pile of intertwined sweaty bodies. I would have enjoyed that if I wasn't still stuck in the standing bow pose. There I was howling in pain and really disrupting the inner peace of everyone present and most of the class next door. The yoga class was dismissed early with a lot of apologies from the instructor. The instructor tapped my solar plexus and all of a sudden my body released its pose.
I said "thanks" to the instructor and back-pedaled out the door with much embarrassment. I guess I wasn't meant to be a yogi.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
I am so fired!!!
Time keeps moving forward, regardless of how I feel about it. Physicist and Philosophers have created numerous theories about time. Some say time is an illusion others that it is relative on where you are at in the space time continuum. The term continuum implies continuity; an even paced movement where moments are connected. Hmmm then why am I missing segments of time? Why does the pace get faster and faster as I get older?
It has been over two weeks since I have posted a note on this blog. I vowed to myself that I would post weekly, I am so fired. I would have posted last week if I didn't have a flair up of OCD. That sprinkled with ADD is a recipe for lost time. I looked up and Voila a week was gone! I am so fired.
Physicist claim that time is relative to the observer and that large objects bend time and slow things down. That's why I hang out with fat people. Time moves slower for them. Do you know why New Orleans is called the Big Easy? Because fat people set the pace for time in Louisiana; okay fat people and alcohol.
That's nice but I live in Colorado, where people want to be fit and run road races like the Boulder Boulder. Time is moving so fast here that you do have to say Boulder twice to make sure you hear it once. Being lean and competitive guarantees time will speed up. There isn't enough time to speak in complete sentences, whew!
These examples are strong arguments towards the relativity of time. Energy, time, and mass are relative terms. So is good ole uncle Stanley. Yes uncle Stanley is a relative who doesn't believe in science because he is religious. Big bang for him is birthday sex.
Maybe if I was a physicist, I would learn how to control time without resorting to use my fat friends. I just feel so selfish when I do. Fun fact: guilt is relative too. Presently my options are limited so chances are you will see me with a large crowd. Time is on the move and I hate having to catch up.
It has been over two weeks since I have posted a note on this blog. I vowed to myself that I would post weekly, I am so fired. I would have posted last week if I didn't have a flair up of OCD. That sprinkled with ADD is a recipe for lost time. I looked up and Voila a week was gone! I am so fired.
Physicist claim that time is relative to the observer and that large objects bend time and slow things down. That's why I hang out with fat people. Time moves slower for them. Do you know why New Orleans is called the Big Easy? Because fat people set the pace for time in Louisiana; okay fat people and alcohol.
That's nice but I live in Colorado, where people want to be fit and run road races like the Boulder Boulder. Time is moving so fast here that you do have to say Boulder twice to make sure you hear it once. Being lean and competitive guarantees time will speed up. There isn't enough time to speak in complete sentences, whew!
These examples are strong arguments towards the relativity of time. Energy, time, and mass are relative terms. So is good ole uncle Stanley. Yes uncle Stanley is a relative who doesn't believe in science because he is religious. Big bang for him is birthday sex.
Maybe if I was a physicist, I would learn how to control time without resorting to use my fat friends. I just feel so selfish when I do. Fun fact: guilt is relative too. Presently my options are limited so chances are you will see me with a large crowd. Time is on the move and I hate having to catch up.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Looking for some hair gel
Have you ever had a bad hair day? Me, I am having a bad hair life. I know it doesn't matter who cuts my hair. Because it always turns out the same. A big mess of wild hair that makes me look mentally unbalanced. This "wild hair" is a condition known as folliculitis flexomegaly.
This condition is highlighted by hair follicles that refuse to lie with the crowd. These follicles are individuals and have rebellious natures. They exist to go against the flow of what could be great looking hair. The other hair follicles see the great time that the "wild hairs" are having and want to party too. They start flexing in their own individual way and soon there is quite an event happening on top of my head.
I know when I am symptomatic people start looking at the top of my head when they speak with me. There are awkward looks as if they want to mention my hair but don't want to be impolite. Once at a job interview, I broke out in full blown folliculitis flexomegaly. "We love your credentials Dickey Bill, but just can't seem to get past your hair." Tell me me about it.
I haven't yet figured out how to make my look good. You know who made bad hair look good? Albert Einstein did. Even when his hair was combed it was out in the lunatic fringe. It looked like it could explode any second. Einstein didn't have my condition. No the reason his hair stood straight up was because he had a medium sized scalp stretched tightly over his extra large skull. This look added so much credibility to his musings of the space time continuum.
The best haircut I ever had was a mullet. I was cool then with my business up front and party in the back look. I think it is my responsibility to bring sexy back in the form of a mullet. I'll either look retro or be mistaken as a butch lesbian that coaches girl's softball.
I would shave my head, but I feel like I would go from badhair to bad head days. I guess part of my destiny calls for me to make people go "hmmm" when they glance at the top of my head. Hmmm what's with you hair?
This condition is highlighted by hair follicles that refuse to lie with the crowd. These follicles are individuals and have rebellious natures. They exist to go against the flow of what could be great looking hair. The other hair follicles see the great time that the "wild hairs" are having and want to party too. They start flexing in their own individual way and soon there is quite an event happening on top of my head.
I know when I am symptomatic people start looking at the top of my head when they speak with me. There are awkward looks as if they want to mention my hair but don't want to be impolite. Once at a job interview, I broke out in full blown folliculitis flexomegaly. "We love your credentials Dickey Bill, but just can't seem to get past your hair." Tell me me about it.
I haven't yet figured out how to make my look good. You know who made bad hair look good? Albert Einstein did. Even when his hair was combed it was out in the lunatic fringe. It looked like it could explode any second. Einstein didn't have my condition. No the reason his hair stood straight up was because he had a medium sized scalp stretched tightly over his extra large skull. This look added so much credibility to his musings of the space time continuum.
The best haircut I ever had was a mullet. I was cool then with my business up front and party in the back look. I think it is my responsibility to bring sexy back in the form of a mullet. I'll either look retro or be mistaken as a butch lesbian that coaches girl's softball.
I would shave my head, but I feel like I would go from badhair to bad head days. I guess part of my destiny calls for me to make people go "hmmm" when they glance at the top of my head. Hmmm what's with you hair?
Monday, March 1, 2010
The truth about Ostriches
Sometimes bad information can get you into trouble. The consequences from relying on bad information can be dangerous. My ultimate mission in life is public service and I know can help the public by debunking two outrageous myths regarding ostriches.
Myth #1. Ostriches deny their is trouble by hiding its head in the sand.
Myth #2. Ostriches make tasty burgers.
The urban legends surrounding Ostriches abound. Leaving behind confusion, in my case clouds of confusion. Ostriches do not hide their heads in the sand to avoid danger. The truth is that Ostriches are much too stupid to even recognize that they are in danger. Do you want to know why Ostriches eyes are so big? It is because there is room in their small heads for big eyes. Ostrich brains are smaller than its eyeball. That definately hinders cognitive thought.
Like any other normal person, I was never concerned with accurate information about ostriches. That is until I met an ostrich with a nasty disposition. I was strolling the campus of LSU (Geaux Tigers!) and I happened upon a nine foot tall ostrich. He was looking curiously at me with his enormous eyes.
I thought that the ostrich would consider me dangerous so I jumped up and down and hollered loudly to try and scare it. I expected the ostrich to run away and then I could laugh at my human superiority. He didn't move. I noticed his legs for the first time, they were massive. The ostrich then started swinging his head back and forth wildly. He stomped his gigantic ostrich feet on the ground. There was one thin strand of barbed wire separating us. He looked at me as if he was going to come through the wire and step on me.
My cleverness had backfired. I was now afraid and started backing away slowly. The ostrich got distracted at the complexity of the fence. I took that opportunity and ran away. I avoided being kicked around by a chicken on steroids because he was stupid. Whew that was a close one.
Speaking of chickens, some genius thought that ostrich was just another word for poultry. There are ostrich farms, I don't know if Tyson farm ostriches but they do a great job with chickens. I digress, ostriches are not poultry but they are edible. Since man will eat anything, why not ostriches? Because...Ostriches taste like crap! You bite into some ostrich meat and it is like having a mouthful of crap. That is definately not appealing to me. It must be an aquired taste. I don't want to have to work at enjoying food.
My certainty comes from the fact that I have sampled ostrich. My good friend invited the family over for a cook out. "I have ostrich burgers." He said with pride. "Oh really, let me see." I said. It was red meat and had the texture of ground beef. "Okay, I'll try it."
I took a bite of my ostrich burger excited by the new experience. There it was a mouthful of crap. I was grossed out. eeewwww! Judging by the looks on the faces of the other guests, we all seemed to be in agreement. No amount of condiments could hide that awful flavor. I ate a lot of potato salad.
Two myths about ostriches that are debunked. I hope you never need this information. However it is good to know just in case.
Myth #1. Ostriches deny their is trouble by hiding its head in the sand.
Myth #2. Ostriches make tasty burgers.
The urban legends surrounding Ostriches abound. Leaving behind confusion, in my case clouds of confusion. Ostriches do not hide their heads in the sand to avoid danger. The truth is that Ostriches are much too stupid to even recognize that they are in danger. Do you want to know why Ostriches eyes are so big? It is because there is room in their small heads for big eyes. Ostrich brains are smaller than its eyeball. That definately hinders cognitive thought.
Like any other normal person, I was never concerned with accurate information about ostriches. That is until I met an ostrich with a nasty disposition. I was strolling the campus of LSU (Geaux Tigers!) and I happened upon a nine foot tall ostrich. He was looking curiously at me with his enormous eyes.
I thought that the ostrich would consider me dangerous so I jumped up and down and hollered loudly to try and scare it. I expected the ostrich to run away and then I could laugh at my human superiority. He didn't move. I noticed his legs for the first time, they were massive. The ostrich then started swinging his head back and forth wildly. He stomped his gigantic ostrich feet on the ground. There was one thin strand of barbed wire separating us. He looked at me as if he was going to come through the wire and step on me.
My cleverness had backfired. I was now afraid and started backing away slowly. The ostrich got distracted at the complexity of the fence. I took that opportunity and ran away. I avoided being kicked around by a chicken on steroids because he was stupid. Whew that was a close one.
Speaking of chickens, some genius thought that ostrich was just another word for poultry. There are ostrich farms, I don't know if Tyson farm ostriches but they do a great job with chickens. I digress, ostriches are not poultry but they are edible. Since man will eat anything, why not ostriches? Because...Ostriches taste like crap! You bite into some ostrich meat and it is like having a mouthful of crap. That is definately not appealing to me. It must be an aquired taste. I don't want to have to work at enjoying food.
My certainty comes from the fact that I have sampled ostrich. My good friend invited the family over for a cook out. "I have ostrich burgers." He said with pride. "Oh really, let me see." I said. It was red meat and had the texture of ground beef. "Okay, I'll try it."
I took a bite of my ostrich burger excited by the new experience. There it was a mouthful of crap. I was grossed out. eeewwww! Judging by the looks on the faces of the other guests, we all seemed to be in agreement. No amount of condiments could hide that awful flavor. I ate a lot of potato salad.
Two myths about ostriches that are debunked. I hope you never need this information. However it is good to know just in case.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Ode to Ricky Bobby
I've done allot of different jobs in my working life. Occasionally, someone will ask me, "Is there any job you haven't done?" I am always surprised by this question. Obviously I haven't done everything. I have never been a race car driver.
I think racing would suit me. It's not too complicated and that is a plus. I believe I am coordinated enough to drive a car. I mean come on, it's not typing. I like the cool racing suit, just wearing that would be exciting.
I went to my auto mechanic to get my car tuned up. I spent a small fortune making sure it was road ready. When I was paying the bill, the mechanic said proudly, "It's a RACE CAR now!"...Really? I immediatly went home and told my wife I was going to Alabama. "I am going to enter the Talledega 500." I told her. She rolled her eyes and said "Okay honey, I'll see you next week."
I have to say I am very disappointed in my auto mechanic. I arrived at the Speedway ready to enter and was promptly told to leave or they would call the police. It seems that I have been mislead and my gold Honda Civic was not a race car at all. That's okay, while driving back home to Colorado, I pretended I was in a RACE! I was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as I maneuvered through traffic. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins.
Everything was fine until I saw a 1972 Ford Pinto in the fast lane passing a line of cars on the right. It was smoking and the side mirror was hanging by a thread. I don't know how it was possible that it was going 90mph. A thought crossed my mind that whoever was driving that car was mentally impaired. Now it was dangerous. We were moving fast. With my cat like reflexes, I tapped my breaks to slow down. Pure reflexive genius in action.
I tried to be a race car driver and I was turned away. Perhaps my destiny is yet to reveal itself. I still have to say that Auto racing is a job I have not had.
I think racing would suit me. It's not too complicated and that is a plus. I believe I am coordinated enough to drive a car. I mean come on, it's not typing. I like the cool racing suit, just wearing that would be exciting.
I went to my auto mechanic to get my car tuned up. I spent a small fortune making sure it was road ready. When I was paying the bill, the mechanic said proudly, "It's a RACE CAR now!"...Really? I immediatly went home and told my wife I was going to Alabama. "I am going to enter the Talledega 500." I told her. She rolled her eyes and said "Okay honey, I'll see you next week."
I have to say I am very disappointed in my auto mechanic. I arrived at the Speedway ready to enter and was promptly told to leave or they would call the police. It seems that I have been mislead and my gold Honda Civic was not a race car at all. That's okay, while driving back home to Colorado, I pretended I was in a RACE! I was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as I maneuvered through traffic. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins.
Everything was fine until I saw a 1972 Ford Pinto in the fast lane passing a line of cars on the right. It was smoking and the side mirror was hanging by a thread. I don't know how it was possible that it was going 90mph. A thought crossed my mind that whoever was driving that car was mentally impaired. Now it was dangerous. We were moving fast. With my cat like reflexes, I tapped my breaks to slow down. Pure reflexive genius in action.
I tried to be a race car driver and I was turned away. Perhaps my destiny is yet to reveal itself. I still have to say that Auto racing is a job I have not had.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
She told me it was unisex.
Last week I went shopping for a shirt. I had some functions to attend that required me to look my best and a new shirt would help. I don't like to browse and try on clothes when I shop. I want to get it over with as soon as possible and be on my way.
I walked into a clothing store and was greeted by a salesperson. "May I help you?" she inquired. "I am looking for a shirt." I blandly replied. She side stepped and produced a shirt seemingly as if she knew what I wanted all along. She held up the shirt and said, "I've got the shirt for you right here. It is the newest thing in fashion and what is really great is that it is unisex."
She handed me the shirt to examine. Oh it is lovely I thought. The fabric is incredibly soft and it is shiny. I like shiny things. "I don't know." I said holding the shirt up. I noticed that the shirt was my size. "I think you will look great in this shirt." the sales lady said. You know what, I believed her. I decided to try it on. It had an unusual cut to the material, it fit great and I noticed I looked slimmer in the mirror. The sales lady must have been one shirt away from a huge commission because she gushed all over about how good I looked. She was a true professional. I purchased the shirt.
Have you ever noticed when you buy a new car, you suddenly see that type of car everywhere? That is what I experienced with my new shirt, except I didn't see this shirt on one man, only very fashionably dressed women. Hmmmmm I wondered why my wife asked me why I was wearing her clothes. I wondered why the gay guy at work suddenly decided to hit on me. He told me exactly what he wanted to do to me. I was flattered.
I guess the unisex part of this style of shirt hasn't caught on yet. Wow I am on the front lines of a new trend. I'm glad too, because the shirt really makes me look good.
I walked into a clothing store and was greeted by a salesperson. "May I help you?" she inquired. "I am looking for a shirt." I blandly replied. She side stepped and produced a shirt seemingly as if she knew what I wanted all along. She held up the shirt and said, "I've got the shirt for you right here. It is the newest thing in fashion and what is really great is that it is unisex."
She handed me the shirt to examine. Oh it is lovely I thought. The fabric is incredibly soft and it is shiny. I like shiny things. "I don't know." I said holding the shirt up. I noticed that the shirt was my size. "I think you will look great in this shirt." the sales lady said. You know what, I believed her. I decided to try it on. It had an unusual cut to the material, it fit great and I noticed I looked slimmer in the mirror. The sales lady must have been one shirt away from a huge commission because she gushed all over about how good I looked. She was a true professional. I purchased the shirt.
Have you ever noticed when you buy a new car, you suddenly see that type of car everywhere? That is what I experienced with my new shirt, except I didn't see this shirt on one man, only very fashionably dressed women. Hmmmmm I wondered why my wife asked me why I was wearing her clothes. I wondered why the gay guy at work suddenly decided to hit on me. He told me exactly what he wanted to do to me. I was flattered.
I guess the unisex part of this style of shirt hasn't caught on yet. Wow I am on the front lines of a new trend. I'm glad too, because the shirt really makes me look good.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
When the Saints come marchin' in...
It is Mardis Gras season in New Orleans. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulette! Especially this year when the Saints defeat the Colts tommorow. The party will be more than the usual madness and decadence. There will be an optimistic vibration resonating strongly with the celebration, the Big Easy way.
I think I should invest in some Superbowl Champion Beads with the Saints logo all over them, then take a road trip to New Orleans! Hoo yeah cher! The party will be off the hook. Millions of people will cram into the French Quarter to watch parades, drink excessively and reveal body parts usually left to imagination.
It brings me back to my first Mardis Gras celebration in the Big Easy. Along time ago when I was fourteen years old. I hitched a ride with a couple, ten years older than myself, but we hung out allot. My parents didn't have I clue I was there because they would not have let me go.
Someone threw me a beer from a balcony on Bourbon Street and the party began in earnest. I learned quickly that I could exchange beads for women exposing their titties. 'Wow' I remembered thinking 'I wish everyday could be Fat Tuesday'. I got really competent negotiating women to flash me for the sheer excitement of being naughty. I had run out of beads in about ten minutes.
"Show me your tits." "No" came an immediate reply. I asked her "If we were in a serious relationship you would show me, wouldn't you?" She thought for a moment then smiled and said "Of course." "I love you." I said back to her. She grinned big and pulled both breasts out and rubbed them on me. I had reached a new level in my life and there was no turning back.
Yes the Mardis Gras celebration is all about the good natured drunken nakedness for me. Yes I have earned allot of beads just to give them back. This year...when the Saints come marching in, oh Lord I want to be in that number. Who Dat? You know who it is. It is the New Orleans Saints and they are number one this year, GEAUX SAINTS!
I think I should invest in some Superbowl Champion Beads with the Saints logo all over them, then take a road trip to New Orleans! Hoo yeah cher! The party will be off the hook. Millions of people will cram into the French Quarter to watch parades, drink excessively and reveal body parts usually left to imagination.
It brings me back to my first Mardis Gras celebration in the Big Easy. Along time ago when I was fourteen years old. I hitched a ride with a couple, ten years older than myself, but we hung out allot. My parents didn't have I clue I was there because they would not have let me go.
Someone threw me a beer from a balcony on Bourbon Street and the party began in earnest. I learned quickly that I could exchange beads for women exposing their titties. 'Wow' I remembered thinking 'I wish everyday could be Fat Tuesday'. I got really competent negotiating women to flash me for the sheer excitement of being naughty. I had run out of beads in about ten minutes.
"Show me your tits." "No" came an immediate reply. I asked her "If we were in a serious relationship you would show me, wouldn't you?" She thought for a moment then smiled and said "Of course." "I love you." I said back to her. She grinned big and pulled both breasts out and rubbed them on me. I had reached a new level in my life and there was no turning back.
Yes the Mardis Gras celebration is all about the good natured drunken nakedness for me. Yes I have earned allot of beads just to give them back. This year...when the Saints come marching in, oh Lord I want to be in that number. Who Dat? You know who it is. It is the New Orleans Saints and they are number one this year, GEAUX SAINTS!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Stay away from the magazine racks!!!
I know you have heard of the magazine Cosmopolitan. Do you read Cosmo? Guys I don't judge because we really do need to know what we are up against. Every woman in the world reads Cosmopolitan. Even nuns read it. Women just want to know the nasty secrets to make a man insane.
Last year, there was an article written that caused me a bunch of trouble. The article was called 'five naughty secrets to make him crazy'. Women you need to realize the awesome power that comes from knowing these things and to approach using these techniques responsibly. My wife read that article and decided to give it a go. It was SECRET #3 that put me in a locked padded room for a 90 day observation at the State Psyche Hospital! I am released now because I meet the minimum requirements for safety and my health insurance sucks. It's been a long year, I've worked hard in therapy and I am now just starting to feel normal. Although, magazine racks still make me twitch.
I am still in therapy but I think it is time to quit. I can tell it isn't doing me any good anymore. Every week it is the same routine. I start opening up to my therapist telling her my problems. I tell her about the demons on my back weighing me down and about my deep dark perversions...All I hear is laughing. My therapist is laughing at me. Sure she is trying to hide it but the laughter breaks through in an uncontrollable fit.
"Doc, what's so funny?" I ask concerned that she might have heard me wrong. "Oh,mmm mmmmm nothing is hmmm funny. Please Dickey Bill just hold on...mmmm wait please, I tell you what, I'll (giggle) only charge you for a half hour." The doctor says as she turns away from me. I can see her biting her lip. It happens every week. My therapy bill has been cut in half but I can't see how her approach is helping me.
So I'll give it one more week. Remember a very wise comic book character once said, "With great power comes great responsibility." All I ask ladies and certain gentlemen (you know who you are), is to use the knowledge you get from Cosmopolitan magazine responsibly. Be sensitive to the psychological wounds that are inflicted from exploiting these secrets. You may miss the man you get locked up.
Last year, there was an article written that caused me a bunch of trouble. The article was called 'five naughty secrets to make him crazy'. Women you need to realize the awesome power that comes from knowing these things and to approach using these techniques responsibly. My wife read that article and decided to give it a go. It was SECRET #3 that put me in a locked padded room for a 90 day observation at the State Psyche Hospital! I am released now because I meet the minimum requirements for safety and my health insurance sucks. It's been a long year, I've worked hard in therapy and I am now just starting to feel normal. Although, magazine racks still make me twitch.
I am still in therapy but I think it is time to quit. I can tell it isn't doing me any good anymore. Every week it is the same routine. I start opening up to my therapist telling her my problems. I tell her about the demons on my back weighing me down and about my deep dark perversions...All I hear is laughing. My therapist is laughing at me. Sure she is trying to hide it but the laughter breaks through in an uncontrollable fit.
"Doc, what's so funny?" I ask concerned that she might have heard me wrong. "Oh,mmm mmmmm nothing is hmmm funny. Please Dickey Bill just hold on...mmmm wait please, I tell you what, I'll (giggle) only charge you for a half hour." The doctor says as she turns away from me. I can see her biting her lip. It happens every week. My therapy bill has been cut in half but I can't see how her approach is helping me.
So I'll give it one more week. Remember a very wise comic book character once said, "With great power comes great responsibility." All I ask ladies and certain gentlemen (you know who you are), is to use the knowledge you get from Cosmopolitan magazine responsibly. Be sensitive to the psychological wounds that are inflicted from exploiting these secrets. You may miss the man you get locked up.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Survival of the fittest...
You know I love Colorado. The idea of year round outdoor activities just fills me with warm and fuzzies. Don't get me wrong I am NOT going to participate in these activities, I just love the idea that I can. Especially this time of year, if your going to play in the Rockies wilderness then you better have survival skills.
I do not have survival skills. I was talked into hiking on a trail. I figure okay I am with people who have done this before and I am on a trail. How hard could it be?
After about one mile uphill, I was falling behind and breathing hard. I had to take a leak and I was feeling uneasy because I didn't see any port a potties. It's funny how fast water goes through you.
I spotted a cave and thought "Perfect now I'll get some relief." I was going good when I noticed I was pissing on a bear. He looked confused. Animals in this day and age are quite sophisticated. All of them have seen humans, after all this is the 21st century. Usually when animals see humans they say "Aww hell."
So I am pissing on this bear because I really had to go and I couldn't stop. He finally does his bear thing and ROOAARRS! That was all I needed to hear to start running. I headed downhill, I run faster that way. I ran for as long as I could. I didn't know it but the bear didn't chase me at all. He decided to go get cleaned up.
By the time I stopped running I was lost. "So this is how it happens." I thought. I remembered reading an article about the two main dangers of being lost in the wilderness without survival skills. The first danger is freezing by 3:00am and the second danger is getting eaten by raccoons. Really raccoons, mountain lions only eat people under 4'0" tall.
I figured there's no way I'm going to freeze to death because I am a good dancer. Dancing the way I do is hot! I use my hot moves and I'll make it through the night. About 2:00am and I am dancing the night away. About 2:50am mentally I am putting solid gold to shame but in reality I am moving in slow motion. My body stopped moving at 2:59am while I was in mid gyration, with my lips puckered to show my sexiness.
Now while I was trying to save my life with hot slow motion salsa dancing, a band of raccoons passed by. They were returning from a party at the lake and they had a serious case of the munchies. One of the raccoons said "Hey look, a human, what luck. Let's eat him." They started discussing how good the last person they found frozen in the woods tasted. Another raccoon shouted "I get his ass!" He ran up to me and bit me in the ass.
That was enough for me to jump up again and start running. I was screaming too. I ran about 100 yards when I reached a road. There was a Denny's right there. Lucky me My one survival skill saved my life. Man I can run. That is the last time I am going to the zoo.
I do not have survival skills. I was talked into hiking on a trail. I figure okay I am with people who have done this before and I am on a trail. How hard could it be?
After about one mile uphill, I was falling behind and breathing hard. I had to take a leak and I was feeling uneasy because I didn't see any port a potties. It's funny how fast water goes through you.
I spotted a cave and thought "Perfect now I'll get some relief." I was going good when I noticed I was pissing on a bear. He looked confused. Animals in this day and age are quite sophisticated. All of them have seen humans, after all this is the 21st century. Usually when animals see humans they say "Aww hell."
So I am pissing on this bear because I really had to go and I couldn't stop. He finally does his bear thing and ROOAARRS! That was all I needed to hear to start running. I headed downhill, I run faster that way. I ran for as long as I could. I didn't know it but the bear didn't chase me at all. He decided to go get cleaned up.
By the time I stopped running I was lost. "So this is how it happens." I thought. I remembered reading an article about the two main dangers of being lost in the wilderness without survival skills. The first danger is freezing by 3:00am and the second danger is getting eaten by raccoons. Really raccoons, mountain lions only eat people under 4'0" tall.
I figured there's no way I'm going to freeze to death because I am a good dancer. Dancing the way I do is hot! I use my hot moves and I'll make it through the night. About 2:00am and I am dancing the night away. About 2:50am mentally I am putting solid gold to shame but in reality I am moving in slow motion. My body stopped moving at 2:59am while I was in mid gyration, with my lips puckered to show my sexiness.
Now while I was trying to save my life with hot slow motion salsa dancing, a band of raccoons passed by. They were returning from a party at the lake and they had a serious case of the munchies. One of the raccoons said "Hey look, a human, what luck. Let's eat him." They started discussing how good the last person they found frozen in the woods tasted. Another raccoon shouted "I get his ass!" He ran up to me and bit me in the ass.
That was enough for me to jump up again and start running. I was screaming too. I ran about 100 yards when I reached a road. There was a Denny's right there. Lucky me My one survival skill saved my life. Man I can run. That is the last time I am going to the zoo.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Cult of Personality
It's already ten days into 2010 and nobody has invited me to join a cult yet this year. I was close, I was invited to a dinner party. Sadly the folks were "normal" and presently were not involved with a cult. I asked. I am somewhat disappointed as I am regularly solicited to join.
Cult members like the fact that I am enthusiastic. They say to themselves, that I would make a fantastic addition to their membership roster. When someone in a cult recommends me, it says allot about the quality of people who are asked and do join. So cult members keep asking, I do appreciate it.
I wouldn't mind belonging to a cult. But I have discriminating tastes. For example, I cannot join a cult that requires celibacy. I made that rule when I was fifteen and it has been in my personal cult rules for decades. My mother brought home two women dressed in white sheets. This was the luckiest day of my life. Two women wearing togas in my living room. Usually I was trying to avoid my parents guests but today they had my complete attention.
Mother had invited these wandering apostles home for supper. They told their tales of faith, and the second coming of Jesus who had changed his name to Jerry the dessert guy. All I could think of was how I could belong to this cult where beautiful women travelled the land in sheets. I was ready when they mentioned the rules... Everyone had to be celibate. If there were some woman that needed a man Jerry took care of them but the men had a higher standard. I was heartbroken, they did ask "Are you ready little brother?" Sadly, I took my adolescent tumescence and turned away. I was unaware that that would be the first of many offers to join a cult.
I was asked to join the the folks down at Jones town, and the day I was going to leave I got asked to join the Unification church. So I passed on Jonestown (dodged a bullet on that one). I was about to join the 'moonies' when Heavens Gate left a flier on my door. Scientology, Mormons, Buddhists, Hare Krishnas, every time I was asked I had prior commitments and couldn't sign on.
They all had such wonderful opportunities I just couldn't decide. Presently I am leaning towards becoming a Rastafarian because I really like their fashion sense with the very cool hats. They are not going to ask you to drink poison Kool aid or stop you from exploring your sexuality. I just can't seem to grow dreadlocks and no one has even asked me if I want to join.
So maybe its a temporary slump or my enthusiastic aura is waning. Are there any quality cults that are looking to recruit new members? I have an open mind.
Cult members like the fact that I am enthusiastic. They say to themselves, that I would make a fantastic addition to their membership roster. When someone in a cult recommends me, it says allot about the quality of people who are asked and do join. So cult members keep asking, I do appreciate it.
I wouldn't mind belonging to a cult. But I have discriminating tastes. For example, I cannot join a cult that requires celibacy. I made that rule when I was fifteen and it has been in my personal cult rules for decades. My mother brought home two women dressed in white sheets. This was the luckiest day of my life. Two women wearing togas in my living room. Usually I was trying to avoid my parents guests but today they had my complete attention.
Mother had invited these wandering apostles home for supper. They told their tales of faith, and the second coming of Jesus who had changed his name to Jerry the dessert guy. All I could think of was how I could belong to this cult where beautiful women travelled the land in sheets. I was ready when they mentioned the rules... Everyone had to be celibate. If there were some woman that needed a man Jerry took care of them but the men had a higher standard. I was heartbroken, they did ask "Are you ready little brother?" Sadly, I took my adolescent tumescence and turned away. I was unaware that that would be the first of many offers to join a cult.
I was asked to join the the folks down at Jones town, and the day I was going to leave I got asked to join the Unification church. So I passed on Jonestown (dodged a bullet on that one). I was about to join the 'moonies' when Heavens Gate left a flier on my door. Scientology, Mormons, Buddhists, Hare Krishnas, every time I was asked I had prior commitments and couldn't sign on.
They all had such wonderful opportunities I just couldn't decide. Presently I am leaning towards becoming a Rastafarian because I really like their fashion sense with the very cool hats. They are not going to ask you to drink poison Kool aid or stop you from exploring your sexuality. I just can't seem to grow dreadlocks and no one has even asked me if I want to join.
So maybe its a temporary slump or my enthusiastic aura is waning. Are there any quality cults that are looking to recruit new members? I have an open mind.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Happy New Year
2010 and I'm excited! I came up with an ECO-friendly idea regarding my new years resolutions. I will recycle last years resolutions! They haven't changed at all. I have intense pressure to lose weight, stay sober and be more productive. because I want to be thin and wealthy. By recycling last years resolution I am proving to the world that I am doing my part to lower my carbon debt. If I keep this up, I may be sorting my trash soon.
I am trying to work out to jump start my weight loss. However the lines are long right now for the treadmills. So I have to stand behind someone with a large ass and watch them walk uphill jamming to 1940 showtunes. It's 6:00 am who has time for this? I know when its my turn, I start feeling a little uneasy and have the urge to keep looking back over my shoulder to see who's waiting on me. I always end up next to the petite woman who sets the treadmill at 10mph and proceeds to run 10 miles. My feelings have become a tapestry of paranoid inadequecy along with the physical strain of moving. It is no wonder why I usually workout once a year.
Eating right means eating smaller portions. If God did not want us to eat so much, He wouldn't have made yummy food. Don't you agree? I try to eat less and when I leave the table after one serving of yumminess, I don't feel happy, in fact I feel like I am denying myself such a simple pleasure that eating is no longer fun.
I've worked out and ate like an refuge from some starving country, now I feel like crap. I do know how to make a crappy feeling better, drink beer. That's right I have to self medicate because life is too short to feel like crap. Hmmmm maybe I should change my resolutions so I don't have to keep up this charade of self improvement.
My new resolution will be; I will be the best fat lazy drunken slob that I can be for 2010. Now that is something I can feel good about doing. It will put a damper on being ECO-friendly, but there is always next year.
I am trying to work out to jump start my weight loss. However the lines are long right now for the treadmills. So I have to stand behind someone with a large ass and watch them walk uphill jamming to 1940 showtunes. It's 6:00 am who has time for this? I know when its my turn, I start feeling a little uneasy and have the urge to keep looking back over my shoulder to see who's waiting on me. I always end up next to the petite woman who sets the treadmill at 10mph and proceeds to run 10 miles. My feelings have become a tapestry of paranoid inadequecy along with the physical strain of moving. It is no wonder why I usually workout once a year.
Eating right means eating smaller portions. If God did not want us to eat so much, He wouldn't have made yummy food. Don't you agree? I try to eat less and when I leave the table after one serving of yumminess, I don't feel happy, in fact I feel like I am denying myself such a simple pleasure that eating is no longer fun.
I've worked out and ate like an refuge from some starving country, now I feel like crap. I do know how to make a crappy feeling better, drink beer. That's right I have to self medicate because life is too short to feel like crap. Hmmmm maybe I should change my resolutions so I don't have to keep up this charade of self improvement.
My new resolution will be; I will be the best fat lazy drunken slob that I can be for 2010. Now that is something I can feel good about doing. It will put a damper on being ECO-friendly, but there is always next year.
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